


Memorize

by stardropdream



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Blindness, Episode Related, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 03:07:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8604733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: Aramis tells himself to memorize these moments, before he never sees them again.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to tumblr for the prompt, "one of the reasons Aramis leaves at the end of s2 is cos he's slowly going blind (divine punishment, disease whatevs) and the others don't know until they meet him again at the monastery."

Aramis remembers, in the small years before he was taken from his mother’s side, how she used to squint out the window at the street below. When Aramis asked her what was wrong, she’d always say that the sun was in her eyes. 

But he also remembers his father bent over his desk, squinting down through the glowing of the candle, trying to make out the sharp script of his correspondence. 

These were little moments, inconsequential on their own, but that stand out to Aramis years later when he has to squint in the darkness to make out Porthos’ expression. A smile – of course it’s a smile, it’s always a smile when they’re like this – wrapped up in each other, holding tight. He brushes his thumb over Porthos’ mouth – memorizing his face, locking it away. In this moment, he doesn’t feel any sense of alarm. But he does know that something has shifted, something has changed. 

 

-

 

Still, he smiles when he sees Porthos pick up a magnifying glass off Treville’s desk and cast it over the pages of open books strewn everywhere. An absentminded, nervous gesture. He isn’t reading anything – just letting his eyes fall over the words, smiling to himself that he can recognize the words at all. 

Aramis smiles, too, even if from across the room he can’t tell what sort of writing is on the pages, or if there is writing at all. He watches Porthos’ movements, the steady curve of his shoulders, the glide of his hand as he looks over random word after random word and finds utter delight in the simple gesture of recognition. This, at least, can make his heart feel warm. 

 

-

 

Remember this, he tells himself. Remember all of this. 

Porthos’ smile, the way his hair curls, the way his nose wrinkles up when he’s thinking or annoyed or scrunchy-faced—

Anne’s smile, hopeful and barely held back, the way her hair curls at her shoulders—

His son, his son, their son—

 

-

 

Months later, he’ll convince himself that the reason he didn’t notice the fiery colors of the trees around him was because he was too focused on walking away, too focused on not turning to look over his shoulder – to see his brothers, to see Porthos. 

 

-

 

He finds peace, staying with the monks. He learns the passageways even in the dark, so he stops bumping his knees after the first few weeks. 

He loves the sound of the birds in the morning, the brothers and their separate footfalls, the children and their patterings (Luc is heavy-soled, Marie is light and fairy-soft). The sounds of the bells ringing. 

The distant, ever distant sound of gunfire and canons. 

 

-

 

When he sees Porthos again, he doesn’t recognize his expression until he’s close enough. Pinched eyes, hard line of his mouth. His hair is longer than he remembers. There are new scars. Porthos doesn’t scowl at him, but the lack of joy in his eyes is damning even as it is. 

Aramis’ smile falls. 

 

\- 

 

When Porthos laughs again, Aramis mourns that his vision is swimming, fuzzy at its edges. But sad only for a moment. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back, letting the sound of his laughter wash over him, lets himself laugh, too. 

How could he ever forget that Porthos’ laugh is the most wonderful sound in the world?


End file.
